


Lepszym Człowiekiem

by Mechrophile



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Author is Nonbinary, Canon-Typical Violence, Falling In Love, First Meeting, First Time, Flirting, Getting Together, Lambert Being an Asshole (The Witcher), Lambert POV, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Lambert (The Witcher), Slow Burn, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), pov switching, reader POV, the slow burn is the feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25245835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mechrophile/pseuds/Mechrophile
Summary: Lambert stops at a tea shop and bakery in a small village, forced by a storm to take shelter for the night.  The owner happens to be a caring, gentle type and offers him food and lodging in exchange for help around the shop while he's there.  Neither thinks much of the chance meeting, other than to admire each other's looks, but Destiny has more than just a lifetime of suffering on the Path for the angry young Wolf.
Relationships: Lambert/Reader
Comments: 25
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a gift fic from a friend ♥. First chapter poured out in about an hour or so? Also, super self-indulgent and I'm too old to apologize for that. Lambert's my absolute favorite. I always fall for the asshole with a secret soft side, so that's what you can expect to find in here. Angery boy just needs cuddles. I realize I could've just written an OC or a self-insert, but I wanted to make it a Reader thing. It'll be a nonbinary AFAB reader, though if you wanna use different pronouns in your head, I legit can't stop you. First couple of chapters will be pretty tame, but it'll earn that explicit rating. If you love the Grumpiest Little Witcher, I encourage you to indulge and read~
> 
> Title is Polish for "A Better Man".

As thunder and lightning cracked across the sky, rain began to pour down. Lambert cursed softly and clucked to his horse, urging her into a bit of a quicker pace. He’d been hoping to make it to the next village before the storm started up. He held the reigns with one hand while he pulled his cloak tighter around himself with the other. This was just the cherry on top of his shit week. The last contract he’d fulfilled hadn’t paid up, the alderman of the small town laughing in his face when he’d offered to accept a room, a decent meal, and half the coin he’d been promised.

_”We’re not housing a_ mutant _here! This isn’t a charity. Go on, before we string you up as a warning to the rest of your kind!”_

Rather than tossing a bomb and running for it like he wanted, the witcher had turned on his heel with a growl, mounted his mare, and ridden hard. The man’s cruel laugh had echoed in his ears through the night, granting him no peace when he’d stopped and made camp for the night, and so he hadn’t slept. The next three towns had met him with the same cold hostility, mothers hurrying their children inside and men glaring at him as he rode through. It wasn’t worth his time to stop and see if maybe he could scrounge up any coin from them.

Stupid fucking humans.

Stupid fucking Path.

He’d never asked for this life. He’d never wanted to be taken from his mother, trained and tortured and mutated, then sent to protect the ungrateful world that had abandoned him. His father’s life wasn’t worth this. He’d suffered enough misery at the hands of that whoreson during his young life, wasn’t that enough?

The horse whinnied at a sound coming from his left. He stopped her and listened, absently petting her neck to keep her calm. A couple of yards off, he could hear the definite sound of nekkers.

Stupid fucking irony.

Sighing, he nudged his mare back into a walk. “I promise, we’ll stop soon, I’ll find you a nice stable to rest in, and I’ll even get you an apple. You deserve it, girl.”

The edge of the village wasn’t too far ahead. It was nearing nightfall, and he could see the lanterns being lit, welcoming any who were still stuck out in the rain home. An ache settled in his bones. It would still be a few months before he made the trek back to Kaer Morhen, back to the warmth of spending his evenings with his brothers and their mentor. He’d fall on his own sword before he admitted it to them, but winters in the old keep were his favorite time of year.

Beneath the smell of rain and mud, a softer scent drifted past his nose. A small shop still had a window open, a fresh pie cooling just inside on a table. Lambert’s mouth watered and his stomach protested. He’d been living off what he could catch or forage since essentially being stiffed.

Maybe it was time to give the humans another chance.

He stopped and dismounted, tying his horse to the gatepost, then walked towards the door. He stopped before he could push it open, glancing down at himself. Dirt and mud caked his boots. His cloak was soaked through. Despite the leather armor beneath, he shivered, then pushed the door open.

***

Business had been slow for you today. Despite the days beginning to grow cooler, it seemed no one really wanted to stop in for a cup of tea. You had worked under your mother in the shop for as long as you could remember, and when she’d fallen ill and passed on, you’d taken over sole ownership. You were her only child, and she’d been your only family. Customers were really the only thing staving off loneliness.

The sudden peal of thunder made you jump. Stormy days were always the hardest. No one wanted to be out, travelers seldom passed through, and you couldn’t open the windows to entice your neighbors over for some fresh baked treats.

The smell of apples and sugar browning in the oven warmed your heart, though. You checked the pie, then carefully removed it and placed it on the small table by the window, opening it a bit to let the pie cool. As you glanced up, you noticed others lighting lanterns. Down the road, you could see a dark figure riding atop a horse.

_The poor creature_ , you thought to yourself. You’d always had a soft spot for animals. You hoped the rider would be smart and stop. 

Sighing, you turned away and decided to begin the task of closing up for the night. There were dishes to be washed and you would have to get up early to draw water from the well tomorrow. Of course, you also needed to settle the matter of dinner. However, the sound of hooves stopping drew your attention back to the door.

After a tense moment, the door banged open and the dark figure stepped into your shop. They pushed their hood back, revealing a handsome face graced with distinctly golden eyes. The silver wolf’s head medallion glinted in the light of your lamps. You’d grown up hearing stories about witchers. The villagers never trusted them, claiming them to be untamed and violent, though you’d also heard that their purpose in life was to protect humans from the evil creatures that littered the continent.

“Master Witcher,” you greeted him with a smile, “welcome to the Sugar and Spice Shop. The weather’s dreadful, so if you’d like, there’s a small stable out back where you can shelter your horse.” You received a grunt in reply, watching a strange expression flicker over his face. He turned without a word. “I’ll put a kettle on for you,” you call after him.

***

Everything about this shop was strange. From the owner to the greeting to the lack of stench of fear. Lambert wanted to demand why the woman wasn’t afraid, but…well, he also wanted to know why she wore pants and a jerkin, and why she smelled so nice. Instead, he marched right back out the door to take care of his mare. It wouldn’t do to leave the loyal girl out there in the storm.

He untied her and led her around back, finding the small stable with ease. The cow currently residing there looked up, then went back to her hay. Lambert got his horse into the free stall and quickly untacked the saddle, then brushed her down with care. Once that was taken care of, he glanced around and spotted an old blanket folded in the corner. He grabbed it and threw it across the mare’s back. Then he pulled an apple from his pack and fed it to her.

“I think we’ll be safe here, girl,” he said, more to himself than the horse. She nickered softly in reply.

With his horse settled, Lambert returned to the warmth of the little shop. A bowl of steaming stew had been placed on one of the tables near the counter, alongside a cup of tea and a roll of bread. It smelled hearty and made his stomach growl.

“It’s not poisoned, is it?” he asked, eyeing the woman skeptically.

A soft, almost musical laugh poured from her mouth. “No, sir, I wouldn’t dare. I prepared this stew for dinner. You must be hungry, please, sit and tuck in!”

“I can’t pay you.”

The woman turned around to ladle out a bowl for herself. “I’m grateful just to have the company.”

Lambert scoffed, but sat down and gave the stew another sniff. “You’re a brave woman, huh?”

“Not a woman,” the owner shook their head. “Not really a man, either.” Lambert tensed, waiting to be told the owner was some sort of magical being. “I’m simply…me? I’ve never felt strictly one or the other, and my mother never pestered me into settling down to be some traditional woman. She understood I was a free spirit.” The tension left his shoulders. They were human.

“Must’ve been nice,” he groused around a mouthful of vegetables.

They shrugged, taking a sip from their own cup. “Only because of my mother’s love and support. Never got on well with the other children.”

Maybe that’s why they weren’t afraid. They knew what ostracization felt like. He ate quietly, tearing into the roll and dipping it into the stew to eat it. The human wanted to ask questions, Lambert could sense that much, but they kept quiet as the pair ate. Perhaps they weren’t as brave as he thought? Maybe he should make the effort to lighten the mood. Wouldn’t do to have the owner tense after their kindness.

“Y’know,” he said, voice adopting a more suave tone, “I could…pay you in other ways. If you were amenable~”

***

The witcher was quiet as he ate, and, sensing his weariness, you didn’t pry. He was intriguing. From the two big swords he’d left by the door, to the scars down the side of his face, to the way he greedily wolfed down what you’d served. It did warm your heart to see him eating so happily. A tiny hint of a smile even graced his lips as he neared the bottom of his bowl.

Suddenly, he broke the silence. “Y’know, I could…pay you in other ways. If you were amenable~”

The tone he used made you shiver pleasantly. His meaning wasn’t lost on you. “Master Witcher, while I’m…flattered…I don’t even know your name~ Besides, I told you, I’m grateful just for the company.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes. Likely, he was just looking for an easy lay. Rather than let him keep entertaining the idea, you walked over to grab the pie and began cutting a slice to place on a plate. You replaced his bowl with it, then dropped both your bowls with the other dirty dishes near the sink. You’d have enough water to get through the washing, at least.

“Tell you what, after dessert, I’ll wash and you dry. Sound fair enough?” you asked, jerking your head to the pile of dishes as you cut yourself a slice.

“Sure,” he said, slightly disappointed. The sour look didn’t stay on his face for long. Your pie replaced that with the first bite. He hummed and let his shoulders droop, tension visibly leaving him. “Okay, really? This? This is good. Helping you do the dishes isn’t enough.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a small smile playing at your lips. “Then you can wash them, as well. If that’s still not enough, I could probably use your help in the morning. Big, strong witcher like you could make short work out of drawing water from the well~”

A light shade of pink dusted his cheeks as he took another bite of pie. “’s Lambert,” he said around the mouthful, then swallowed. “My name, it’s Lambert.”

“I’m [Y/N]. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lambert.” He gave you a funny look at that.

“First time I’ve been told that,” he remarked, stuffing another bite into his mouth and looking away.

It was true, though. You’d always wanted to meet a witcher, and tonight, one had shown up on your doorstep. A handsome one, at that. As much as you’d like to take him up on his offer, it…felt wrong. He looked like he needed a bath and a good night’s sleep, not a fling. Much like your mother, you felt drawn to take care of those in need.

“I’m afraid with the storm, I can’t go draw water for a bath, but I can get some for you to wash up a bit. Washing the dishes will take care of your hands, of course. You’ll be welcome to bathe in the morning while I prepare for the day’s business. Hopefully, the storm will have passed by then. I’ve a spare room upstairs. You’re welcome to use it,” you explained. Once your slice was finished off, you rose to add your plate and fork to the pile, then covered the rest of the pie. As you turned back around, you saw that Lambert had finished as well. He was leaned back, hands laced behind his head and eyes closed.

“That was the best meal I’ve had in _ages_ ,” he praised, and there was that smooth tone again.

“Yes, well, I’ll go fix up the wash basin for you. Those dishes won’t do themselves~” you called, quickly walking off towards the stairs. A warmth was settling in your gut already, and that couldn’t be good news. The witcher was too tempting. You'd have to keep your wits about you around this one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambert learns how to milk a cow. You learn how persistent he can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super excited that there are a couple of you following this already! I'm trying not to rush this because I want it to be good, but I also wanna get to the more exciting parts.  
> ;w; ♥

By the time the dishes were finished, the noises from upstairs of the owner, [Y/N], preparing the spare room for him had quieted. Lambert stopped to listen at the bottom of the stairs, then quietly turned to the front door. They’d been kinder than any human the witcher had met in...ever, really. Maybe his mom, but—well.

Maybe he could run and wipe out that nest really quick before bed. It didn’t sound too big. A Grapeshot or two, couple bursts of Igni, the nekkers may not even know what hit ‘em. In and out.

As he crept closer to where he’d heard the nekkers, Lambert focused his senses, trying to locate them before they sensed him. He stopped at the first sound of them, crouching low and listening. There were seven by his count. Easy enough. And he’d feel like he’d earned the hospitality shown to him once [Y/N] was safe.

Silently, he crept forward, getting close enough to where he thought the nest would be, and lit the fuse on the Grapeshot. As he dropped it, he felt two sets of claws latch onto him from behind, causing him to stumble before he could clear the blast radius. Lambert threw himself to the ground, rolling and doing his best to get the little fiends off him. The bomb detonated, sending muddy earth and twigs flying. A clawed hand scratched his neck, causing him to cry out.

He grabbed his dagger and shoved it into the head of the one that had clawed him. The dagger stayed buried in its head as he turned to blast Igni at the nest. Any that had survived the blast from the bomb were now on fire, and he only had one left attempting to take him down.

The final nekker, a chieftain by the looks of the red clay decorating its face, put up a good fight. It managed to bite through his trousers leg before he simply punched it. It fell to the ground, where he quickly delivered the final blow with his steel sword.

“Yeah, how’s _that_ taste, huh?” he yelled, then spat at the fallen chieftain. With the nekkers dispatched, he quickly cleaned off the sword and sheathed it, then took care of his dagger. The little village would be safe, and he’d be able to sleep peacefully knowing that. 

The trek back to the shop proved uneventful, though he did sense a pair of eyes watching him from across the way as he entered the shop. His muddy boots were slipped off at the door. He’d made a big enough mess earlier, and he made a mental note to clean it up in the morning. Hopefully the dried mud would be easy to sweep.

Quietly, Lambert crept up the stairs, then into the spare room he’d been offered. He shut the door, then began to take off his armor so he could wash up. It was a quaint little room, with the bed tucked against the wall under the window and a small nightstand beside it. A dresser was pushed against the wall adjacent to the outer wall, and a bookcase stood beside the door. The wash basin and a single candle were placed on the dresser, along with a small bar of soap. He could smell it across the room: Lavender and vanilla, with a hint of rosemary.

Maybe they wouldn’t notice if that bar went missing…

He made quick work of washing the dirt off himself, taking extra care with the wounds on his neck and thigh. Neither was deep enough to cause serious damage, but the bite mark to his thigh would scar. Bit of a shame, but it might also earn him some extra attention the next time he bedded someone.

Once he’d finished cleaning up, Lambert finally lay down, sighing contentedly as he fully relaxed into the overstuffed mattress.

***

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of your cow, Clarabelle, mooing in distress. Heart racing, you threw your dressing gown on over your nightdress, pulled on your boots, then wrapped a shawl around your shoulders tightly as you ran down the stairs. Before bursting through the back door, you grabbed the axe you used to chop firewood, brandishing it at whoever was hurting your precious girl.

“BACK OFF, OR I’LL—oh…Lambert, what…By the gods, _what_ is going on?” You lowered the axe, taking in the picture before you.

The witcher was seated next to Clarabelle, bent over and tugging at her teats. The poor girl was stamping her hooves and swishing her tail, attempting to get free of his grasp. As she kicked the small pail over, Lambert growled and jumped up, throwing his hands in the air.

“Have it your way, steak! Your milk’s probably soured anyways!” he yelled at the cow. You couldn’t help but laugh at the scene. “Stupid cow…I brought in a bucket of water for you, but you weren’t up yet, so I thought I’d milk her for you, too. Guess she’s not a milk cow?”

“She is. You were just doing it wrong~” you answered. He finally looked up at you and another light pink blush graced his cheeks, though the scowl settled a little deeper. He appeared to have left his armor inside, opting to do his work in his trousers and undershirt. The way the collar fell open, you could see a fresh set of claw marks trailing along his neck. You couldn’t help reaching forward in worry.

“Ah ah, nope, drop the axe!” he scolded, taking a step back for every one you took forward.

You rolled your eyes, but did as he commanded. “I just want to get a look at your neck,” you said, voice calm and steady as he let you reach for his collar. “What happened here? It looks fresh.”

“Nekker got me. It’s nothing, it’s fine, I put salve on it last night.” He gently pushed your hand away, brow smoothing out as he noted your genuine worry. “They’re feisty little bastards, but they won’t be bothering you, swear it.”

You blinked, furrowing your brow. “I didn’t hear anything last night. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen them in the village before.”

Lambert shrugged, then stretched, not-so-subtly showing off his physique. “I’d heard them in the woods just before reaching the village. Didn’t think anything of it, ‘til a gorgeous baker took me in~” His voice was buttery smooth and he threw a wink in for good measure. You could feel heat rise in your cheeks. You looked a right mess at the moment, hair down and sleep-mussed, still in your nightclothes. 

“Aren’t you sweet,” you answered coyly, going to comfort your cow now that you were certain the witcher was okay.

***

He knew it was impolite to stare. Downright rude, considering how he leered at them when their back was finally turned. Hair hanging loose, wavy from the braid it had been in the day before, it reached just past their shoulders. The shawl and dressing gown made them look more delicate. It was a sharp change from the more masculine look of last night.

Damn.

“You wanna learn how to do it the right way?” Their voice prevented his thoughts from straying too far, though the question [Y/N] poses does make Lambert smirk.

“Oh, don’t you worry, I know how to—“ He was cut off before he can finish his innuendo.

“Clearly, you don’t. Clarabelle wouldn’t have been so upset had you known to be gentle.” The baker had taken a seat on the abandoned stool, righted the bucket, and a soft plinking noise was steadily filling the morning air. “She’s a proper lady, she doesn’t like it rough~”

One dark brow rose as Lambert watched, arms folded over his chest. “Yeah? What else does she like?”

“You’re learning to milk her, Master Witcher, not court her. Unless there’s something you aren’t telling me?” they prodded, turning to flash a playful smile.

Lambert sputtered, taken aback by the bold accusation. “Me? Court a _cow_?? Gods, what other awful rumors are they spreading about us?” He was blushing again, he could feel it. “I don’t even court fair maidens.” Though…he was starting to feel he ought to at least bring this human flowers. Maybe something useful, some fragrant blossom they could add to a tea.

It was a weird feeling. What did Geralt’s bard call it? Smitten? Whatever, it wasn’t like Lambert could really act on it. Once he bathed and saddled his horse up, he’d be back on the Path, likely to never see them again.

Damn shame.

***

“And why not?” you asked. “Handsome brute like you could probably have your pick.” It was out of your mouth before you could think to stop it. Your hands ceased at Clarabelle’s teats, ice flooding your veins. Would he take it as an insult? You knew better, most folk didn’t take kindly to Lambert and his ilk.

Witchers were unholy mutants, after all.

“Yeah, got ‘em lining up in the brothels to alleviate me of my coin~” You could tell he was trying for teasing, but there was still an underlying note of bitterness. Clarabelle mooed softly, reminding you to get finished with the morning’s work.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, keeping your eyes on the slowly-filling bucket.

Lambert scoffed. “Hey, who says I’m only into fair maidens, anyways? Let’s…say I’m the courting type.” He walked around to the other side of you, squatting to watch you work. “Let’s say I wanna go out and find someone to marry, settle down somewhere on the coast, step off this godsforsaken Path. Why limit myself to the ladies~? You said yourself last night, you don’t let society box you into one way of life, why should I do so?”

You laughed softly. He had a point. “So? How about it, then? Is there a strapping lad you fancy? Maybe an older man, keeping a hearth warm and waiting for his loyal Wolf to return? Or, perhaps, I’m not the first of my kind you’ve met. Perhaps there’s another free spirit out there, someone you come together with now and again.”

The witcher shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Witchers don’t have feelings. We don’t court, we don’t marry, and we don’t fall in love. It’s not meant for us.”

“I see…”

His admission filled your heart with an ache you couldn’t describe. Was he really destined to walk alone? It didn’t seem right that, on top of being hated and risking their lives, witchers weren’t allowed to fall in love. No one that traveled the Continent and protected others deserved a life of loneliness.

A rough hand pushed your hair out of your face, tucking loose strands behind your ear. “Hey, c’mon, don’t cry about it. Do I look sad about it?”

“I’m not crying, you oaf,” you scoffed. Lambert had a cocky smirk plastered on his face, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Offer’s still on the table to let me warm _your_ bed for a night, though~” There was that smooth tone again. Gods, what a menace.

Rolling your eyes, you took the milk pail and stood to go back inside. “You smell like an entire field of onions! Go bathe and perhaps I’ll give your offer some consideration!” you called over your shoulder. You could hear the witcher scrambling to hurry after you, his gait somewhat uneven. Was he more injured than he let on?

He still beat you to the door, grinning like the predator he was as he blocked your path. You stopped and glared at him. “Okay, okay, how about this? I’ll be your devoted slave for the day, doing whatever you like, no judgement, no questions asked, if you’ll allow me to stay another night. I…need time to heal. I’ll be out of your lovely locks by the morning~”

You shifted your weight, pretending to think it over. “Fine, I accept. Now, would you kindly open the door?”

“It would be my pleasure~” He finally opened the door, stepping aside to allow you back into your shop. Now that you could spare a moment to look around as you walked through to the kitchen, you noticed it was spectacularly clean. The mud from the night before was gone, the dishes were put away, and the tables had all been wiped down. It was certainly more than you expected.

“Why don’t you go have that bath, Lambert? I certainly think you’ve earned it. By the time you’re finished, I’ll have breakfast ready.”

The witcher simply nodded before hurrying off upstairs. If he’d filled the tub before you woke up, the water was going to be chilly. That was unfortunate. But you knew just the right tea selection to warm him up afterwards. Cinnamon with orange zest, perfect to have with the leftover pie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You take Lambert up on his offer to do as you wish, and the ladies of the village find out about your guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I warn for self-loathing? Lambert has a lil one-witcher pity party in this chapter. Slowly, we're making it to the good parts.

When he’d offered to do whatever [Y/N] wanted, Lambert had expected something…a lot more sexy. He could see the way they looked at him. He knew there was some sort of attraction. They stole little glances whenever they could, looking away and blushing in a way he hadn’t really seen a human do with him. Even that time with Merigold, he’d been the one to feel like an inexperienced boy. This little baker _wanted_ him.

So why was he outside, chopping firewood?

It was those damn eyelashes batting and that stupid little coy smile. The way they’d asked if chopping wood would be too difficult a task for him. The baker must have some kind of magic. Maybe if he got close enough, he could find out. Then maybe he could break whatever spell they’ve put on him. Maybe they’re some type of kitchen witch, which would be easy enough.

After the last log was split, Lambert dropped the axe with a thunk beside the stump he’d been working on. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a sigh. The day had grown hot and he’d already tossed his shirt aside. As he turned to grab it, he caught sight of his host standing beside the back door, staring straight at him. He couldn’t help but smirk as he walked over to them, simply slinging the shirt over his shoulder to let them keep ogling.

“I…thought maybe you’d like to take a break, but I see you’ve already finished,” they said, cheeks flushing a bright pink as they finally looked away. “I have lunch ready. It’s a quick meal, the morning’s been a bit busy.” They bit their bottom lip, as if stopping themself from saying more. Their eyes flicked back to his chest, his stomach, lower…and back to his face. Lambert raised an eyebrow at them.

“See something you like, sweet one~?” he cooed, taking a step closer.

Without a word, they turned on their heel and marched back inside, but not before Lambert got a glimpse of their face growing redder. Not before he caught an alluring scent. And lucky him, they were dressed in trousers again, a slightly tight pair that gave him the perfect peak at their round bottom.

Lambert stared a moment too long after they’d let the door shut behind them. He could feel a stirring in his own trousers, and it wouldn’t do to follow [Y/N] into their shop like that. Instead, he turned and went to the well, then draped his shirt over the edge. It was quick work to lower the bucket and draw it back up again. He took his time washing the sweat and grime from his face and arms, though. A moment to cool off, to let the baker calm down, perhaps. They may have patrons in the shop right now.

Not that he cared what a couple of backwater villagers thought, but if he strode in shirtless, pants uncomfortably tented, it would certainly ruin [Y/N]’s reputation. The rumors about witchers were bad enough without him adding another tale of lechery to the pile.

He took a deep, centering breath, then pulled his shirt on and tucked it into his trousers. He even did up the little tie at the neck. The sleeves stayed rolled up, though. It was a bit too humid to roll those down. Once he felt decent, Lambert made his way back into the shop.

***

When you’d gone to fetch Lambert from his task, you hadn’t expected to be greeted by the sight of him shirtless, entirely focused on his work, arms swinging the axe down like he was born to do it. The way the little logs split cleanly with one swing spoke to the raw power the witcher held. As the last pieces fell into their separate piles, he let the axe fall and turned towards you, wiping sweat away from his face before grabbing his shirt.

And you were still staring, caught up in a fantasy of what it might feel like to be held in those strong arms. Heat rose in your cheeks as he smirked and walked towards you. “I…thought maybe you’d like to take a break, but I see you’ve already finished,” you said, averting your gaze. “I have lunch ready. It’s a quick meal, the morning’s been a bit busy.” You bit your lip, a nervous habit, really, and looked back to his broad chest. A dark dusting of hair covered his torso, dipping below the waistband of his trousers. Once you realized where your eyes had landed, you immediately looked back to his face. He looked quite sturdy, and wasn’t _that_ a delightful notion?

“See something you like, sweet one~?” His voice dipped into that range that made heat coil low in your gut. He was stepping closer. You couldn’t let this continue.

Face burning, you turned on your heel and marched right back inside. You leaned against the door to catch your breath and collect yourself. It wouldn’t do to have your customers seeing you all ruddy-cheeked. They’d think more had happened.

Marguerite, the miller’s wife, shuffled into the doorway that led to the back area. “Is everything all right, dear?” she asked, hands cradling her swollen belly. She was pregnant, due any day now, and the two of you had been discussing the merits of a tea leaf reading while you’d prepared lunch for your guest. You’d gushed to her before, of course, about what a help he was, and how attractive he was.

You smiled at her reassuringly. “I was just…The man I was telling you about before, he finished chopping the firewood so quickly, and—“

“Oho, [Y/N], you needn’t explain further~” she said with a small giggle. “I remember what it’s like when young love blossoms from nowhere.”

You sputtered, shaking your head. “It’s not—I can’t be—He isn’t—We shouldn’t call it ‘love’ so soon!” Marguerite giggled again, tapping the side of her nose in a conspiratorial way. “He’ll be leaving soon, anyways. He isn’t the type to settle down.”

“If you were to, say, let yourself _indulge_ , however, it’s no one’s business but your own. Caelum wasn’t my first, you know~”

Before you could answer, the door opened behind you, and Marguerite’s smile promptly dropped as she took in the witcher behind you. You turned to look at him, ready to make introductions, but the woman quickly snatched you away from him by the wrist, pulling you from the small area and through to the main area of your shop. The other three ladies that had been there were gone now, and Marguerite’s grip didn’t loosen until she had you clear to the other side of the room.

“A _witcher_!” she whispered harshly. “[Y/N], you know those monsters are dangerous! Tell me, did he threaten you? Has he put you under a spell or poisoned you? My darling, it’s okay, we’ll gather the men of the village and they’ll protect you! They’ll drive him out!”

You gently twisted your arm from her grasp, laughing softly. “No, everything is fine. He’s quite nice, actually. He rode into the village with the storm last night, and…I offered him lodging in exchange for help around the store. He’s—“

“You _what_?! You can’t be serious!” she cut you off with a shriek. “You _must_ get him out of here!”

“Marguerite, really, it’s okay,” you said, trying to soothe her. As her face contorted into one of mixed fear and anger, you looked back to find Lambert standing in the doorway, a sneer on his face. “Maybe…Maybe you should go back home to Caelum. The baby will be here any day, Marguerite, you need your rest.”

She nodded, but continued glaring at the witcher. “I will, dear. But you, witcher. Mark my words, if you harm a single hair on their head, the men of this village will burn you to ashes!” You walked with her to the front door as she spoke, then gently ushered her out.

Once she was gone, Lambert relaxed. “I’m so sorry, Master Witcher, she…This village doesn’t really take too kindly to things they don’t understand.”

He waved you off with a flick of his wrist. “I’m used to it. You said lunch was ready? I’m starving!” With an apologetic smile, you motioned to a table in the back corner. A spread of cheeses, meats, sliced radishes and carrots, and fresh bread was laid out, along with a tankard of ale. You poured yourself another cup of tea and followed him to the table, sitting across from him.

“They didn’t accept me for the longest time, either. Especially the village elders. My mother always defended me, pointing out that I never harmed anyone and simply wanted to be true to myself.” You popped a radish slice into your mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

The only answer Lambert gave you was a soft grunt as he took a quaff of ale.

***

The way the pregnant woman had reacted, her shrieks and the stench of her fear, lingered long after she’d left the shop. What’s more, the baker had felt the need to apologize to _him_! An uneasy feeling had settled in Lambert’s gut, and despite the act he put on of being hungry and enjoying the food they’d laid out, he hadn’t eaten nearly as much as he usually would.

He was foolish to think his time here would be any different. To entertain thoughts of flirting with his host, winning their affections…To want to attempt _courting_ them. A voice he’d long ago tried to forget floated into his head.

_”Stupid, useless whelp…Nothing more than a burden to me. If it weren’t for you, I’d have been rid of that bitch long ago.”_

After lunch, he’d excused himself to the small stable, claiming he needed to take care of his horse and equipment. It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t something that should’ve taken him well into the evening. He was currently seated in the front corner of the stall, whetstone singing over the edge of his steel blade. _”A witcher mustn’t forget to care for his sword.”_ Vesemir’s voice was far more welcome in his head than his father’s. It was comforting. It reminded him that he’d be home soon, with his mentor and his brothers, and he could forget this whole shit year.

It didn’t make him feel better about today, though. The pregnant woman had probably already told her husband, and he’d likely gone to gather all the men in the village, and they’d probably show up any minute with pitchforks and torches. If the baker tried to defend him, they risked being run out of the village along with him. He’d brought trouble to someone who had only shown him kindness. It was selfish of him to want to darken their door again. It was selfish to want to share their bed, even if only for a night. 

He shouldn’t stay. He should saddle up and disappear into the night.

He was so caught up in this self-loathing pity party that he didn’t hear the soft footsteps approaching the stable.

***

After lunch, Lambert had mumbled excuses about his horse and equipment, then disappeared out the back door. It was fine, really. He’d taken care of everything you’d wanted help with, and it likely would be a disaster if he hung around downstairs. You did worry about him, though. His mood had shifted and he’d been rather quiet after Marguerite had left.

Unfortunately, Marguerite had returned with several ladies in tow. They’d ordered tea and cake, then demanded you join them at the table. The eldest, a woman named Varna, had done most of the talking, with the others nodding and adding in little bits of encouragement. Varna had warned you of the dangers of witchers, of how they were no better than the monsters they hunted, how they’d trick you into feeling safe, then devour you in the night.

You’d politely listened, but when the cake was nothing but crumbs and the tea had run dry, you’d excused yourself from them, returning to your work in the kitchen. They were your last customers of the day, and you feel their attitudes towards the witcher had something to do with that. The whole village had no doubt been warned to stay away.

What did they know, anyway? It wasn’t as if any of them made an effort to get to know him. They were content to let him fight deadly beasts and keep them safe, as long as they never had to acknowledge his existence.

It wasn’t right.

As the evening grew dark, you finally decided to go fetch Lambert. You could hear him in the stable from the back door. Sparing a glance over to the bit of pasture where you’d let Clarabelle out earlier to make sure she was still safe, you walked over and leaned against the stall door. Lambert’s horse gently nuzzled your hands, prompting you to pet her soft muzzle.

The witcher was very focused on the task of sharpening his sword, his brow creased and movements sure. You didn’t understand how anyone could see him as a monster.

“I have dinner ready,” you said softly. “The shop is closed for the night. No one will bother you, I promise.”

Lambert answered gruffly, not stopping his task. “Don’t need it.”

“You didn’t eat much at lunch. Come inside, before it’s too dark.”

“Doesn’t bother me. ‘M fine out here.”

With a sigh, you opened the stall and knelt beside him, watching his hands work. “The night may get cold. Come spend another night in a warm bed before you set off again.” You reached out, gently laying your hand on his shoulder. That got his attention enough to get him to stop. “Please? I enjoy your company.”

He shrugged your hand away, but looked at you, the look on his face softening. “You shouldn’t. I’m a mutant, I’ll only end up hurting you.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me, Lambert, I’m only asking you to join me for dinner,” you said, smiling softly. Something in his golden eyes shifted. “Besides, there are plenty of human men who are far worse monsters than you, and they go on to have full families. Some even go on to be kings. Really, you’re one of the better men I’ve met. People are just quick to judge. They fear what they don’t understand. You deserve kindness and respect, same as anyone else.”

Lambert rolled his eyes. “Fine, if it’ll get you to shut up with this…morality lecture…I’ll come inside. Happy?”

“Positively delighted,” you replied. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His beard tickled as you pulled away. He stared as you stood and held out your hand to help him up.

He didn’t take your hand, but he did stand and sheath his sword, putting the whetstone away in his pack. “I’ll stay the night, but come dawn, I’ll be gone. I shouldn’t stay in one place too long, especially without contracts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come yell at or with me on [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/Mechrophile)!

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this and wanna see more, please leave a comment! Kudos are also appreciated!


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